It was a Dark and Stormy Night
by haruharu
Summary: A dark collection of Gravity falls one shots. Allow your skin to peel from the bone, as my lyrical pros wrap you up in barbed wire, pulling tight and bleeding out the depth of human depravity. Some prompts are dramatic, others a dark comedy, and then some... are the stuff of nightmares.
1. MabelPacifica: The Haunted Videotape

**Mabifica prompt** by barton-agentoflove

**The Haunted Videotape**

[]

"I'm telling you, babe! This movie is legendary!" Mabel said, elbowing a frowning Pacifica in the shoulder.

The blonde beauty rolled her eyes, and sighing, replied, "Mabel, you say that about all your movies… Plus, this is "Dream Boy High 2: Totally a Sequel!" She sneered, reading the label, "—I mean what kind of title is that, anyway?"

Smiling, Mabel poked the cheek of her rival-turned-girlfriend, "Oh, you'll learn to love it!"

"That's what you always say!"

Ignoring her beau, Mabel popped in the old cassette tape; Pacifica's logic continuing to be a mute point between their relationship.

When the tape began playing, Mabel snuggled in with Pacifica on the couch. The blonde reluctantly wrapped her arms around the younger girl, allowing Mabel to tuck her head into the soft warmth of her breasts. It was a tender spot for Pacifica, and Mabel took full advantage.

A moment passed, and Pacifica felt the soft breathing of the brunette within her arms. Exhaling a content sigh of her own, the blonde settled in for a pleasant night, and a horrible movie.

[]

"—And then I said, 'I also think it's radical!'—"

"Oh, good one bro, good one."

"Hey Craz?"

"Yeah, Zyler?"

"You think those girls are asleep out there?"

"Hmm… yeah looks like it. Why, bro?"

"Heh, wanna have some fun?"

On screen, two colorful and radical-looking young men laugh darkly, before the power cuts, eliminating the glowing neons of the 80s flick.

Pacifica woke to the feeling of something… slimy. Her eyes fluttering open, the blonde gapped in shock, when the very-close-face of Mabel was busy licking the bare exposure of her breasts.

"Mabel! What are you doing!"

The brunette looked up, and Pacifica saw a glimmer in her eyes. Something… sinister, yet—

"Ohhh!"

The blonde moaned when Mabel's tongue swirled around the tip of her nipples. "Oh, Mabel, that's—!"

"Ahh!"

Mabel bit down—hard, and Pacifica buckled under her. The blonde's body was suddenly wet with a mixture of sweat and something else… She didn't understand what was happening, but the miasma of touch and pleasure was an addictive drug, and Pacifica laid herself waste against its onslaught.

This felt… right. Without thinking, Pacifica's body moved of its own accord, spreading her legs, and allowing Mabel to rub against her crotch.

God she was wet! It all felt so good!

"You like that, bro?"

Pacifica mumbled in response—some mixture of moan and pant—but when the omnious tone of Mabel's voice had grown deeper, more masculine, Pacifica awoke in a rush of panicked feelings.

"Mabel?" She tried to sit up, but her body wouldn't let her. While watching helplessly, her arms wrapped around Mabel's ass and squeezed hard. Pacifica wanted to scream, but another sound came out, one equally as masculine as Mabel's own.

"Oh you know it! Harder Zyler!"

Zyler—?!

"Okay Craz, here comes the fun part, bro!"

Pacifica cried out as Mabel's tongue found her womanhood, and suddenly, regardless of the situation—the change in their voices, the obvious need for Mabel's touch, and her own arousal dripping in pleasure—Pacifica allowed herself to breathe... and open herself up for Mabel to eat her alive.

Body, soul, and flesh.


	2. BillDip: It's Okay to be Sweaty

**BillDip prompt** by **Jimmy! **(Anon on Tumblr)

**"It's Okay… to be Sweaty!"**

[]

Dipper sighed, "Wendy…"

His heart heavy, Dipper looked at the crumpled remains of his "confession" note. The very same confession he was going to present to his lov—no—his friend, Wendy.

"—Yeah like that worked out!"

The boy bit back his words, holding in the hateful names he wanted to call Wendy; the malicious curses he wanted to damn her to Hell for… for…

—For what?

Dipper inhaled, holding his breath a second before releasing,

For breaking my heart… Yeah, that was it.

The boy stared at his own crude handwriting a moment—the flowery words, the heartfelt promises—before re-crumpling the paper, and throwing it over his bedside in anger.

"God dammit…" He moaned, "God. Fucking. Dammit!"

Wrapping his arms around his knees, the boy tucked his head into his chest, and uttered,"It wasn't fair!"

This summer—there wasn't a day that passed this summer, when he wasn't risking his life somehow, wasn't sacrificing his safety, or gambling his very soul! And yet… And yet! How did karma repay him? A romp with a shape-shifting monster to remind him of how much a fucking lie his future with Wendy was...

It just wasn't fair!

Dipper felt hot tears drip down his cheeks. Through sniffles and the occasional snort, the boy didn't hear the intrusion of another soul; one viler, and more threatening than any creature Dipper had faced in dreams, or reality.

"What's up, Pine Tree? Looking to clean your face the natural way?"

A shadow cast above the trembling form of Dipper, and the shrill laughter of a familiar voice fluttered about him.

"But seriously," the voice continued, "I just don't understand you humans, I mean look at ya'! You're leaking—ugh!—and sliming all over yourself! It's gross! Not to mention you look ugly doing it."

Dipper frowned, swallowing his tears. He raised his most hateful glare toward the laughing form of the triangle demon.

"Fuck off, Bill!"

The triangle man paused, narrowing his eye. A golden flash sparked within the black pit of his single iris, and for a moment, Dipper was afraid—but, just as soon as it came—it was gone, and Bill was back to laughing again.

"Well, well, Pine Tree. Not in the mood for jokes, I see." The triangle crossed his skinny black limbs, leaning back. "So, what's up, kid? What's eating you? Come on, you can tell your Best Friend," The demon breathed, a shallow hissing sound, escaping his non-exstant mouth, before adding, "Bill Cipher—anything."

Dipper glowered at the floating triangle. What did a demon know of love, anyway?

"You wouldn't understand," The boy mumbled, re-tucking himself into the depths of his snotty shirt.

Bill scrutinized the child. He didn't find the current mood of his favorite puppet very… entertaining.The boy was so serious today, and that was no fun for an immortal creature.

In that case, Bill thought, toys were meant to be played with.

The demon floated down to the bedside and tapped on the boy's shoulder.

"Hey Pine Tree," the demon began in a sing-song voice, then dropping in octave, added, **"Lets play a game!" **

Bill's little shrubbery wiped at his eyes, and looking over his shoulder to the golden glow of his triangular friend, replied, "What are you on about now, Bill?"

If the demon had a mouth he'd be smiling.

"A game, silly!" The triangle sparked, "The rules are simple, two-eyes: I ask you a question, and you reply a single truth, then you ask me a question, and I reply… **Got it, kid?"**

Dipper chewed on his lip, apprehensive. The boy glanced about his room, not seeing much else to do, and it seemed like Bill was 'trying to help,' so…

The boy nodded, "Okay."

"Perfect!" Bill snapped his fingers, and reality melted away. Dipper blinked, as he stared out into the infinite void suddenly surrounding him.

"What the... Bill!"

"Relax, Pine Tree," Bill remarked, inspecting his non-existent nails, "just a bit of privacy, you know—between friends."

Dipper settled, relying on his pout to communicate his annoyance. The demon always did stuff like this. Bill would say one thing, and then do another. Promise something, and then actively work against you… Suddenly, Dipper was starting to second-guess his trust in the little triangle man.

"Okay Bill," Dipper sighed, giving in, "what do you want?"

"Like I said kid—To play a game! Now come on, sit down," said the triangle, lowering himself to the ground, "—just breathe, kid. For once, Dipper. Trust me. "

Bill placed his tiny hand on the boy's pant-leg, and added, "Please…"

Dipper swallowed, a moment passing, then—"Okay, Bill. I… I trust you."

Something passed between the two. Dipper felt a chill run down his spine, knowing that within the infinite void there was no wind to brush behind his neck. Dipper knew Bill felt it too—whatever it was—because the little triangle's single eye open and closed, dilating, as if something was caught in it. Dipper could never guess what the demon was thinking, and that thought was something that always put the boy on edge.

It almost scared him how little he knew of this Triangle Monster. This… demon he called a friend.

Don't trust him!

The infamous words of the journal whispered behind his ears.

Don't trust him!

It was too late.

The triangle was the first to speak up; it's voice just slightly less shrill. "Dipper," Bill hesitated, then— "I know about Wendy."

Before the boy could reply, the triangle continued, "Did you really think you could hide that from me? Come on, kiddo… Omnipotence?" A tiny laugh followed, "But I wanted you to know. I, uh—I can understand. I may not know what its like to…" The demon's eye grew distant a moment, then— "Well, dream demon, remember? I can understand, and sometimes that has to be enough." When Bill finished, his tiny hand remained on Dippers leg, but the boy questioned if those last few words were directed at him or…

"Bill, I—" Dipper swallowed his words, then amending, said, "Lets play that game, okay?" His smile shined through the uncertainty in his words.

The two took a moment to ask stupid questions of each other. Questions like, "Does a floating triangle need to go to the bathroom?" or, "Do humans really grow hair all over their bodies?" To that last question, Dipper referenced his Grunkle's bare back.

"—You wouldn't believe! He has a whole eco-system growing back there! And what's even more terrifying," Dipper added with a laugh, "—Is that I'm afraid that's going to be me in 50 years!"

"Oh, boy! Lets hope not, Pine Tree!" Bill laughed along with the boy, and slowly the tension dissipated between them. Dipper looked out into the void, noticing the swimming darkness, and finding a sense of bliss from its silent peace.

"Say Bill, do you ever… get lonely?" The boy began, "—Out here, among the dreams and darkness?" He turned back to the triangle man, "You must. I mean, even a demon is capable of longing... right?"

Dipper didn't know why he asked it, but Bill thankfully didn't bite back. When the little triangle man was angry, you knew it. Dipper was quickly reminded of their first meeting, and just how terrifying this little triangle could become.

Bill stared blankly a moment, then slowly got up from the ground and hovered in front of the boy's face, far closer than Dipper felt comfortable with.

"Yes Dipper, it's different to how you feel, to how humans are capable of feeling, but yes—I can understand, can... feel... the solitude and it's weight over the years." Bill withheld many things from Dipper. Many, many things; but at that moment, between his company and the ever-flowing tide of millennium, Bill felt… nostalgic, and for once in his very old, eternal existence; wanted to be honest. Just once, just this once, with his little Pine Tree.

"Um, Bill?"

"Yes, Dipper?"

"You're awfully close…"

The floating triangle blinked; once, twice, then— "Oh, very well…" and backed off, giving the young boy the much-needed room to breathe.

Dipper took that breath and exhaled in awkward laughter. Bill was so… strange sometimes. Well—to be honest, Bill was strange all the time. It came with being an ethereal, inter-dimensional, alien-monster. However, sometimes—on occasion, Bill would become a different sort of strange. His golden color would fade, his witty comments became less frequent, and his ever-reaching eye would seem, for-lack-of-better-words, shortsighted. Human.

It was at those moments, that Dipper became the most wary towards Bill. His hands became sweatier, his eyes would flicker for doors, windows, quick escapes. The sight of him—that piercing gaze. It made his heart race something fierce.

"Feeling better?"

Bill's voice mixed with the soft warmth of something... brought Dipper back to reality. "Yeah Bill thanks, I—!"

Dipper paused and noticed the little triangle sitting pretty on his lap. The demon was looking up into his eyes like a puppy, or a kitten, or more likely a tiny one-eyed triangle creature, with a cute little top hat, and a cute little bow-tie, and—What the hell am I thinking?!

Dipper strangled his inner voice until that dialog was silenced. Any strange feelings that followed were swept under the happy little repression carpet.

Bill was politely silent throughout Dippers inner crisis; knowing full well that the boy had a tendency to monolog often, and usually in debate against himself.

After the boy seemed to recollect, the little triangle decided to broach a topic he knew haunted the child. A topic that equally haunted himself as well.

Bill allowed himself a moment of inner turmoil.

Within the vast cavern of his mind, lay the questions, the answers, and the quandaries of galaxies past, up to and including the birth of conscious thought; and yet, Bill realized, this small boy left him at a paradox. Without knowing it, Dipper had done the impossible: He had left the great Eye of Providence; Seeker of truth, Angel of deceit. He who drinks from the Fountain of Knowledge... stumped.

Bill had no answer for Dipper. He was a puzzle; an enigma; and his heart was a carefully locked box that Bill held no key to either. Where the triangle could easily look into the hearts and souls of other mortals, he could not with Dipper. His was a heart shrouded in suspension, tied in chains of insecurity and shame. Bill couldn't play with Dipper, no—not like he wanted to, not like the others. He wanted to shelf the child as just another puppet to pluck the strings of, just another husk of flesh and bone to carry out his dark intent—like so many others, like his Gruncle… like his Grandfather.

That was another puzzle, or at least Bill had thought, once upon a time…

Not anymore. Stanley wasn't it… Stanley was never the one. But Dipper—Yes, although I cannot look into his heart, I can feel it—feel our connection.

Bill decided it was time to move forward, for both of them.

"Say, Pine Tree…"

"Um," Dipper swallowed, "Yeah Bill?"

"Do you ever feel that…"

"Yeah…?"

"That perhaps, just maybe, that girl—Wendy, wasn't right for you?"

Dipper's brow furrowed, and he cocked his head to the side, indicating his confusion. "What…um, what are you trying to say, Bill?"

Bill simply looked up into Dipper's eyes from his spot between the boy's legs. Bill could be very patient, very polite, and every bit the gentleman the journals claimed he wasn't.

Dipper felt oddly... comfortable around him.

"Dipper…"

"Y-Yeah?"

Dipper felt sweat clog his pores and slide down his back and thighs. Why was it suddenly so hot inside this black pit?

Bill paused, then sighing, closed his only eye. "Oh Pine Tree…"

Dipper was at loss; did he say something wrong? The little triangle looked so small, so fragile right now—could the dream demon even cry? Was he capable of sadness and disappointment too? Had he disappointed Bill? And why did that thought twist his stomach so much?

Dipper's heart started to race then.

Suddenly, that little warmth from Bill was gone. In an instant, what replaced it was two very real arms laced around his waist.

"Yipe!"

"Shhh…"

A silent, lucid voice brushed behind the boy's ears. Instantly calming the frightened boy, and against Dipper's reluctance, slowing the race of his heart to a soothing patter of beats.

Those same arms pulled the boy to the firm chest, and to Dipper's dismay, a familiar, and yet not-so familiar voice spoke up, reminding the boy who commanded his emotions.

"Dipper, I want you to let it go. Let it all go, and follow me into the darkness from which we all come."

Dipper was panting now. The sweat of his body was a bitter chill against the searing heat of the hands upon his waist. What was happening? How could Bill do this to him?!

Don't trust him!

"Don't be afraid to drown, Dipper…"

Don't trust him!

"Please…" Those arms pulled closer, and the boy felt the soft touch of flesh upon his brow. "Please, Dipper, I beg you…"

Don't trust him!

"Drown with me. Together, two swimming in misery, and—"

DON'T TRUST HIM!

"Love."

It was too late.


	3. BillDip: No Light No Light

**BillDip prompt** by **Trixandra!** (anon on tumblr)

**No light. No light.**

[]

Dipper thrashed within his sleep.

Inside the deep blanket of darkness, the boy laid in a pit of sweat and sheets, struggling against an unseen enemy. The boy clawed and buckled, squirming and mumbling pleas of mercy. Whatever creature held him, it's claws dug deep into his flesh, refusing him the sweet relief of daybreak.

Mabel stared at the writhing form of her brother, watching as his terror peaked—a scream erupting from his lips—before relaxing back again. From the safety of her own bed, Mabel held a flashlight, its single stream of light fixated on a familiar red journal.

She had enough of this.

"I won't let you have him, Bill…"

Another scream erupted from the boy, but Mabel swallowed her worry and instead turned determined eyes to the intricate runes depicted beside the infamous image of the triangle demon.

I won't let you have him!

The air grew stale, and somewhere a clock chimed the midnight hour. From the center of a triangular room, a young girl made a prayer and whispered the words, "Fire, walk with me."

NO!

NO! NO! NO!

"OH GOD!"

"God? Oh Dipper… There is no God, only… **Me**."

"Dammit Bill, please! Oh Go—Bill… please. It hurts..."

"—Wazzat, kiddo?"

Dipper was crying now. "Please… It hurts. It hurts!"

Tears poured from the red-rimmed eyes of a young boy with rusty brown hair. Hooks strung up his hallowed body, and red liquid oozed from the pulsating wounds upon his flesh.

"Oh? Funny, because I feel—"

A black claw ripped through the darkness and grabbed for the boy's neck. His collar was bruised from the many times Bill had held him there. However, this time the claw didn't dig, didn't slash or carve into his body. Instead, it slowly slithered up, tenderly brushing over the bleeding right eye of the child.

"… **Great.**"

The boy didn't make a sound. When Bill touched him like this, it was wiser to stay silent and allow the demon it's moment of deranged benevolence. It was the safer decision, the boy told himself: feed the monster and spare it's bite. Yes, it was the only way…

Just give in, Dipper. Just give in, and pray you'll wake up before he rips you apart!

The strength in his inner voice faltered, and in its stead was a smaller, gentler, and child-like voice, whispering, But it hurts…

Just trust him. Trust him, and he'll make the hurt go away.

Dipper moaned, feeling the claws of his nemesis ghost over his lips. Just a little more, just wait a little longer and—

All the pain—he'll make it disappear!

"What do you want, Dipper?"

Bill's claws suddenly disappeared from the boy's face, and Dipper slowly looked up into the singular sterile eye of the triangle monster. "Wha –Wha," the boy struggled for words, "What do… I want?"

The demon's eye became hopeful, the previous lethal glare regressing into a solemn expression. "Dipper," the monster sighed, "Do you really believe I come to your dream, night after night... because I want to?"

The boy shrugged, letting his head hang from his sore body. Bill's sharp claws caught his chin, however, and raised the boy's tired eyes back to the devil's own.

"Dipper, I come… Because you wish it."

Bill's words took a moment to settle between them, Dipper trying desperately to breath within the pitch vacuum, and Bill—Patient as ever—waiting until the boy could grasp the levity of his words.

"What—" Dipper choked, the hooks piercing his flesh pulling with every breath drawn, "What do you mean? I wish it?" The boy coughed, then moaned when he felt old wounds rip open again, "I never wished for this!"

Bill backed off immediately.

"Oh, you didn't?"

There was a certain… play to Bill's voice, and Dipper wouldn't have been surprised if this moment of relief were followed by another cycle of torture. "Never!" Dipper rushed out, "I'd never call on you willingly! You," he inhaled again, "You—You MONSTER!" Dipper poured out all the anguish, misery, and shame he felt into one single word.

"You're a Monster!" He repeated, "And it's because of YOU I'm dragged into this Hell every nigh—!"

The boy was cut off by the sting of a slap across his face.

Although the void was infinite, Bill's patience was not, and his single eye seethed with burning power.

**"DON'T YOU EVER—!"** The demon shouted, then pausing, amended— "I mean…" Lowering his hand, Bill rubbed at the swelling welt upon the boy's cheek, "Don't' you ever say that, Dipper. Please…" the demon whispered, "—Not ever."

The boy exhaled, tension slowly, reluctantly, leaving his body. Bill could be so kind, sometimes; so gentle.

No! Don't swallow his lies!

"Ma… Mabel?"

"Hmm? What was that, pet?"

Bill was suddenly very close to his body. The demon's tiny black limbs were rubbing in areas where blood once pooled, but scars now hid the evidence. Bill's attention—It felt good.

Dipper! Don't give in!

"I don't… Mabel?"

"What… Wazzat, Pine Tree?"

"Ahhh!"

Within an instant, Bill's grasp on the boy turned lethal, and what was once the pleasant menstruations of fingers, were now piercing claws that dug into the tender flesh of his body.

The tone of Bill's voice matched the sharpness of his claws.

"Say it again, kid."

"Sa—Say, what?"

"The NAME!" the demon bellowed, then—his voice lowering to a soothing resonance, added, "Say it again, won't you?"

Dipper, no! You must stay strong!

Dipper was in a daze. He felt the heat of Bill's anger; the ferocity and power that left him quaking with fear—but… There was another. A single, small, flicker of… Something. Something familiar, something warm—Not like Bill, not like his play at affection, but something real, something honest.

Dipper rocked his mind, grasping at the small flame; his little light within the darkness. Without knowing it, tears were pouring from his eyes. Not the tears torn away by lash or bite, but those given freely with kindness—love.

"Mabel…" the boy whispered, "It is you…"

Within the darkness of infinity, the boy smiled, and a demon seethed.

Bill grabbed the boy's head, lifting Dipper's face up enough to show the invisible shadow of his sibling the vivid evidence of Bill's own form of... Love.

"Is this what you want?" The demon demanded, **"You little bitch!"**

Dipper! I'm almost there; please… don't let him sway you!

Dipper understood Mabel's warnings—could practically feel her worry echo through the confines that laid him waste. However, the chains that strung him, held more than just his body.

Although Dipper would never admit to it—would never breathe a word of it to his sister, his own flesh and blood—Bill was right.

Deep within the dark cresses of his subconscious mind, where only a certain triangle would dare to tread, Dipper knew that he longed for something…

Something more than what he had.

Friends, family, Lov—no, he didn't have that, but regardless, he knew it was never enough. He wanted more. Call him a glutton, but deep beneath the courage and curiosity, lay a dark whisper of invitation for something, or someone.

Dipper didn't know what that invitation was, what it supplied to Bill, but underneath the pain—both physical and mental—the shame disappeared and for a silent moment, cast in darkness, and beyond conscious thought—Dipper allowed himself to let go… and be dominated.

He wanted to heed Mabel, believe in her honesty, but Dipper knew that darkness had already swayed his heart lon

That was why he called out to a demon for comfort, night after night.

His decision made, Dipper prayed for his sister's safety, before crying out for Bill.

The demon turned, its scarlet glow beginning to fade, and the burning runes within its eye disappearing along with the forgotten passion of battle. Bill's hands sought out the body of the boy, and Dipper buried his head within the fading warmth of the demon's raw power.

This was it. It felt right. Why did he deny the monster every night, only to call him back the next? Was he hurting Bill by pulling him and pushing him away? Did demons even have feelings? God, he felt like such a child…

"Bill, I—"

"Don't even bother, Pine Tree." Bills arms tightened, causing more fluid to seep from the boy's wounds, "I know you more than most humans… and that's saying something, kiddo." A laugh followed, then Bill's levity dropped, adding, "Did you really believe I would subdue you… if it wasn't something you wanted, yourself?"

"Something… I want?"

"I asked you before, Dipper. What do you want?"

There was a hallow longing within the omnipresent eye of Bill Cipher. It was always there, but rarely seen. On occasion Dipper would glimpse it, during the tender moments where Bill would fool him into thinking he cared… But now—

"You—You did care, didn't you?" Dipper's words escaped his logic, but he continued, regardless. "You were there when I felt all the lies, secrets, and backstabbers would swallow me whole. When my own Uncle betrayed me, when I thought I had found love… only to have it taken away."

The boy's face grew thoughtful, a small smile creeping past the blacks, blues, and purples of Dipper's many bruises.

"When the world cast me aside… you picked up the pieces." Dipper hesitated a moment, trying to find the words, before responding, "I guess—I guess I should be thankful." Dipper was smiling now, for what—he didn't know. However, Bill understood, and the demon's single eye reflected the words left unspoken, and now, needed to be said.

"Pine Tree—Dipper," the demon began, his voice soft, contemplative, "There is little you understand about me, little more you understand about this universe and your place in it… But, know that I will stand beside you. That is my destiny, or so I have seen."

"You—" Dipper began, "Destiny? Us?"

Bills hands smoothed over the planes of the boys body, marveling at the developing muscle. Still so young, but such promise on the horizon, just like his Grandfather. However, Bill would allow this flower to grow and bloom, instead of pulling a sprout at its root.

So similar, and yet so different.

Dipper was not Stanley, yet at this moment—when drawn and quartered—the boy reminded the demon of another child; a shy young lad who grew up in the shadow of his brother. Cast from the light, and forced to bloom in darkness, Stanley was ordained for destruction long before Bill took notice.

Weeds should be pulled early to save from hacking the limbs later…

The two embraced, or rather, Bill embraced Dipper, and the boy snuggled into the triangle's swirling depths. For a geometric, 2-Deminsional shape, the triangle man felt soft to touch, like ghosting fingers over candle fire. To Dipper, it felt like comfort, security, and home.

"Yes Dipper, us—together; as it always was, as it will always be."

Dipper didn't respond. Bill's cryptic phrasings were nothing new, but rather, the boy nodded his head regardless, knowing better than to question the infamous Eye of Providence, and it's deep fathoms of knowledge.

No! Dipper don't listen to him!

"Well, well," The demon voiced, "What do we have here?"

Dipper snapped from his trance and looked up to see Bill hovering beside him. The demon's eye was as black as pitch, and his normally glowing golden body was now a bloody crimson.

"Bill, what are you—"

**"Shut up, meat bag! The adults are talking!"**

At the sound of Bill's voice, Dipper shut his mouth. The triangle's normally shrill cockiness had been replaced with a deep monstrous baritone, from which the boy was horrifyingly familiar.

Bill was angry—no, he was furious!

"So the little bitch has come to crash the party… I got to admit Shooting Star, you're creative." The demon cackled, "But I don't care for your reasons, child, you've entered MY dreamscape, and in my domain—I DOMINATE." The demon's words thundered across the black void, then with acid, he added, "You're little parlor tricks won't work here."

"That may be true…" came a new voice, "But I'd rather gamble my soul, than bare to see you corrupt my brother anymore!"

Rolling his eye, Bill watched as a new vortex opened, and through the space walked out a young girl, Mabel Pines.

"Ah, Shooting Star… You look fatter… than I remember." The demon snickered, "I guess the plump look is in, amiright?"

Mabel ignored the obvious jab at her self-confidence. She had more than enough to blindly step inside the prison of a caged beast like Bill Cipher, and his little attempts at throwing stones, would miss their mark every time.

"Bill, release your hold on my brother, and give back his sanity!" Mabel pushed forward, "Every night you haunt his dreams, and by daybreak he's a writhing mess. Can't you see you're killing him!"

Bill relaxed some, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his back. The critical shade of red, bled as brightly and horribly as ever, yet the monstrosity in his voice had morphed again into the familiar shrill of jargon Dipper was used to hearing.

"Oh, really? Well, he looks healthy to me…" The demon glanced back at the strung up form of his boy, then turning back to the girl, remarked, "—But you, well… You look more than healthy, if you know what I mean. Must run in the family."

"Bill! I swear to God—"

"There's that word again: God." Bill interrupted, "Its pathetic how you children grasp onto the whimsy of morons. God, The Journals, McGucket—? Hah!" The demon hovered behind Dipper, grasping the boy's head in both hands. "Spoiler Alert, kid! There's no God..."

Mabel watched with disgust as the demon dug its claws into the boy's skull, and from the wound, begat the symbol of an eye; the symbol for Bill.

"—Only Demons," the triangle continued, **"Like me!"**

Suddenly, Dipper screamed as the eye burned into his skull; flesh searing and blood flowing freely. The boy thrashed, but Bill held him. Mabel heard herself scream, but her body refused to move. She was so frightened, so… captivated.

"—And child, if there's one thing I can guarantee in this reality, or the next..." Bill closed one black claw over the boy's right eye, adding, "—is that demons like me have always been, and will always be, waiting in the darkness; preying upon weak insignificant rodents like you..." Bill's triangular form lowered to the boy's bleeding Third Eye and placing a chaste kiss, added, "Like your brother."

The girl felt tears leak from her eyes. Although they shared a similar face, Mabel imagined Dipper and she looked more identical now than ever. Together, two children locked in a prison made by their own greed for knowledge; their own dumb curiosity.

The sins of the father…

As if reading her mind, Bill spoke up, "You remind me of him," the demon's voice was nostalgic, "So much like Stanford… It's funny how humans work like that. Just when you think you've figured them out, they up and surprise you again. Humans—hah!" Laughing, the demon petted the head of his boy, "Maybe that's why I just can't stay away..."

"Take me instead!"

Bill paused in his musings, "What was that?"

Mabel forced the last of her strength into her next words, this was it—this was for Dipper!

"Take me instead, Demon!"

Bill laughed, "Hah! And what would I want with a repulsive little scab like you?"

"—Because!" Mabel hesitated, then replied, "Because, I'm offering something more than blood or flesh, I'm offering you my... My soul."

The demon paused, and Mabel watched as its color slowly faded red to gold. "What use do I have for your soul, kid?" Bill's voice was level, considering, but not denying Mabel's offer, "I already have your brother's—"

"No you don't!" The girl interrupted, "You may have his body, but you will NEVER have his soul!"

**"What do you know!"** The demon roared, "What do you know of the soul! This boy, just like his grandfather before him—**Belongs to me!"**

Something more horrible than runes burned within the eye of the monster, and Mabel in her own blind resolve was lost to their obvious meaning.

"And I will have him," Bill continued, "Even if I have to **TEAR HIS SOUL APART!**"

"Please, Bill…" Tears dripped down the face of the girl, "Please… Spare my brother. Take me instead."

Bill ignited in passion then, his color a resounding scarlet, matching the fatality in his voice.

**"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"**

At the moment, the darkness swarmed.

Mabel begged.

And Bill pounced.

Please, God... Spare my brother!

Within a vacuum of empathy and the fathoms of centuries, Dipper felt warmth embrace him. Not the warmth of Bill, or the tender affection of his sister, but something else, something welcoming. The boy let it swarm him, surround him, and swallow him whole.

He felt weightlessness; he was falling, then—

Dipper awoke to the ringing buzz of his alarm clock.

Looking around himself, the boy noticed the sweaty remains of his bed and the horrible twisted position of his body.

I must have thrashed in his sleep again, he thought.

Night after night, Dipper had awoken to thrown sheets; desperate breaths for air; and an alarming need to look for his sister.

But there she was.

Mabel sat on her bed, smacking gum, and reading another one of her trashy magazines. When she felt her brother's eyes, she looked up from the glossy pages and smiled warmly at his disheveled appearance.

"What's up, doc?" His sister greeted, "Wow, look at you! Did you have a fight with a lawnmower in your dreams? Hah!"

Dipper smiled, relief filling him. Mabel was safe, and although the hairs still stood straight behind his neck, the boy ignored his thumping heart, for what he saw in front of him.

Shaking his head, the boy smiled and stood from his bed and walked towards the bathroom and a much needed cold shower. As he made it to the door, Mabel's voice drifted behind him.

"You were sure screaming last night... Pine Tree."


	4. MabelPacifica: A Touch More

**Mabifica prompt** by Sipcloudcake

**A Touch More…**

[]

"Just a touch more gloss!"

Mabel grimaced as Pacifica applied a gratuitous amount of lip-gloss to her pouty, pink lips.

"Uh—Paci," Mabel tried to push away, but the blonde's determination to "glamorize" the brunette wouldn't be deterred. Pacifica ignored her young companion's complaints, and smeared and extra amount of lip-stain to go along with the gloss.

"Oh, Mabel dear—you'll learn to love it!" With her spare hand, the blonde grabbed for a crystal bottle, and began dousing Mabel in pink fumes, "Now just some perfume and… Done!"

Mabel blinked; suddenly released, she fell to the floor in a pile of limbs and furry, pink cushions. Above her, Mabel heard the flirty voice of Pacifica cooing over her, "Masterpiece."

"Oh Mabel, honey! You look FABULOUS!"

Rolling her eyes, Mabel sat up and assessed the damage. True to the name, the lip-stain, stained the young girl's lips, and no amount of wiping would rub it off.

"Pacifica, this is…"

"Oh, just look at how beautiful you are!"

Before Mabel could respond, she was suddenly pushed in front of a large mirror and staring into the face of someone she didn't recognize… Someone, who could have been the brunette twin of Pacifica!

"Ah! Paci! I look like—"

"—A doll?" Pacifica cut in,

"If by doll, you mean the creepy dead-eyed ones, then yeah," Mabel replied.

Pacifica sighed, and crossing her arms in agitation, she added, "Whatever, Mabel. At least it's better than your usual, 'Go-out-with-glitter-stuck-to-your-face' look!"

In response, Mabel stuck her tongue out to the mirror; showing Pacifica just what she thought of the blonde's opinion of her.

"Yeah well—" the brunette replied, "At least I don't have to bleach my roots before stepping outside!"

Immediately, Mabel resented her choice of words. If there was one thing the brunette knew about her blonde friend, it was that Pacifica Northwest was a sensitive soul. The smallest detail or slip of the tongue could throw her into violent fits of passion.

Mabel jumped back when a furry pillow was thrown her way. She sighed, watching Pacifica kick at her makeup box, before throwing herself to her bed, crying.

Okay, maybe just temper tantrums… Either way, it was another pleasant quirk of Pacifica's, which Mabel had to deal with… on the daily.

"Pacifica," Mabel breathed, collecting her own emotions, then replied, "Look, I… appreciate the effort, but… I guess I'm just not a 'Glamazon' like you are." The brunette rubbed at her arms, adding, "I'm not like you…"

From the confines of her many pillows and stuffed animals, Pacifica's voice drifted up from the nether of her bedspread, "You don't understand!" A sniffle, then, "You never like anything I do for you! Not a thing!"

"That's not true!" Mabel exclaimed, "Pacifica," she added with a giggle, and a shake of her head, "You really have no idea, do you?"

Between the sniffling and crocodile tears, Mabel could barely make out the meek, "Whatdoyamean?" that seeped up from the bed.

"I mean you, silly." Mabel began, walking up to the foot of the bed, and sticking her head over the edge, "Paci, you're the coolest girl in town! Anyone would give their right hand to be you!" Mabel paused, and softly, added, "I know I would…"

Slowly, a tomb of plushies and pillows rumbled from something hidden beneath, and Mabel smiled when she saw a familiar blue eye peak out from within. "You would what…" came Pacifica's muffled voice, and Mabel blushed in response.

Caught in the act, Mabel glanced around, before she slowly climbed up, over the bed, and sat down beside Pacifica's fortress of solitude. "Well," she began, hesitating, "Pacifica, I—I used to hate you… a lot."

Mabel could practically hear her blonde friend roll her eyes, and giggling she added, "I know, I know, but its not like you think, Paci. I mean—yes, I did hate you because you were beautiful, and popular, and everythingIwasn't…" Mabel rushed out the last part, hoping Pacifica didn't catch it, before adding— "And for awhile, I would imagine what it would be like, to you know… Be you, just for a day." Softly, Mabel mumbled, "Sometimes I still do…"

Mabel felt the bed beneath her begin to quake, and she looked to the pile of pink frilly things, before an eruption of plushies reminded her that Pacifica was at it's core.

"Paci? —Ah!"

Mabel was knocked over as the trembling arms of the blonde locked around her neck, squeezing.

"Pacifica, what are you doin—"

"No!"

"Wait, what—Pacifica, you're chocking me!"

The blonde sighed and loosened her strangle-hold on the brunette. Mabel was about to voice her concerns, but Pacifica beat her to it, voicing her own.

"Don't you ever think you're anything less than beautiful, Mabel!"

Pacifica's blue eyes bore into Mabel's, adding, "There isn't a day that passes that I didn't wish to be you!" The brunette's eyes widened, but the blonde pushed forward anyway, "You don't understand what you have! I can buy anything I want, Mabel—and yet, I could never afford the kind of gifts you're given freely!" Pacifica's puffy lips twisted into a sneer, adding, "It's not fair! What you have—It's not fair!"

Mabel was speechless.

She sat there, on the bed, watching Pacifica as she bled her heart out, as she admitted, that she—the most popular girl in town was jealous… of her? But… why?

"What do you mean, gifts?" Mabel asked, voicing her swimming thoughts.

"That's just like you, Mabel!" Pacifica's sneer deepened, "Always have your head in the clouds! Never aware when someone looks out for you, or shows you a little kindness, must feel great!"

Pacifica doubled over, clasping her hands together. Mabel could see tears begin to brim the edges of her eyes; she tried to reach out to her friend, but the blonde smacked her hand away.

"You don't understand!" Pacifica exclaimed, "You don't understand what it means to be loved! Until… Until, you have it taken away from you!"

Mabel was stunned; she didn't know what to say to the quivering form of her closest friend. Pacifica looked so fragile… so broken.

"I know what it feels like," the blonde added, "I know what it feels like to stand behind the shadow of someone and disappear…"

Mabel frowned, and under her breath she answered, "yes I do…"

Mabel was reminded of Dipper, her brother who had bested her in nearly any sport that demanded concentration—save mini golf. He was so smart… and she, well… she wasn't.

Mabel swallowed her insecurities—a familiar pill that she choked down daily, and instead concentrated on the withering form of her friend.

"But Paci, you're so popular—"

"No I'm not!" Pacifica cut in, "No I'm not, Mabel! Not like you think… Not when my own parents wont look me in the eye!"

Sitting there, Mabel watched as her friend collapsed, and finally, let the tears fall. "My friends, my family… All of it—lies!" In a somber tone, she added, "Can't you see that?"

"Pacifica…"

"It's true!" The blonde exclaimed, "Candy and Grenda—they love you, Mabel! My friends…" Her voice souring, nails digging into the palms of her hands, she added, "They could care less… Tiffany—Hah! She'll marry for money… And Stacey? The only math she can do, is subtract the sales percentage off a Gucci bag!"

Pacifica was near hyperventilating now; Mabel worried for her friend, but knew better then to press the issue more. Patiently, the brunette decided to wait for Pacifica to recollect herself. When the blonde finished crying, and sniffles were the only thing pulling at her emotions, Mabel decided to scoot closer.

Placing a hand behind her friend's back, Mabel began to rub gently; Pacifica happily leaning back into the welcoming embrace. After a moment, the blonde finally spoke.

"You're so lucky, Mabel…"

"No I'm not…"

"Compared to me? Compared to all the status, society, and rules I have to deal with?"

"Hey now," Mabel interjected, "—At least you're not being attacked by gnomes, dinosaurs, or homicidal lifeguards!"

"Wait… Homicidal Lifeguards?" Pacifica asked,

"Er… Never mind," Mabel replied.

The blonde sighed, and closed the distance between them. Suddenly, Mabel was very aware of Pacifica's body pressed against her own. A blush began to bloom on the cheeks of the younger girl, and her rubbing became more frantic in response.

"That feels nice, Mabel…" Pacifica cooed, "Your back-rubs always feel so… nice."

"Hehe… I—uh, learned from the best!" Mabel was sweating now, and somewhere deep inside, she knew she was channeling the hormonal awkwardness of her brother.

"Oh? Who?"

Mabel swallowed when she felt the blonde snuggle deeper into her embrace. She decided the best plan of action was to stare blankly at the opposite wall, which coincidentally housed a montage of scandalously dressed posters of fashion models… Why Pacifica had such a thing, well Mabel wasn't complaining, but it didn't help her sweating problem, either.

"Uh…" came Mabel's half-hearted response, "Um, my Grunkle Stan?"

Pacifica turned and brandished the most unamused look Mabel had ever seen. Frowning, the blonde replied, "Your Grunkle? Really? Old, creepy man—Stan taught you something gentle, like back massage?" Pacifica rolled her eyes, adding, "Mabel, please… Stan is the farthest thing from delicate. Not like you, dear. I don't know how you can stand being related to that brute."

Mabel frowned, Pacifica was quickly slipping back into her "high-and-mighty" self again, aka: a bitch. "There's more to Stan than smoke and mirrors, Paci," she voiced, "He may not be the most honest man, and he does spend an awfully long time in the bathroom at 5am…" Mabel giggled, a smile cracking at the memory, "—And he does stink up the place when he comes out, but—"

"But—?" Pacifica interrupted, one eyebrow delicately raised.

"But—" Mabel repeated, "He's a good man at heart, Paci. He looks out for us kids, regardless of the cost." Mabel laughed, shaking her head, "Don't you see, Paci? That's what love is! The willingness to give up something for someone else. Putting their needs before your own." The brunette hugged the blonde closer to her body, and giving her a wide smile, added, "Haven't you ever felt that way before?"

Her tears long forgotten, at that moment Pacifica was captivated by Mabel's beauty. It wasn't the girl's physical beauty, albeit Mabel was very lovely in her own right, but her inner beauty that so enthralled the blonde. It was the radiance from which her dimples tightened—illuminating the brightest and warmest smile Pacifica had ever seen. Mabel was beautiful; more than she realized, Mabel was beautiful inside and out.

Pacifica felt sick. Next to Mabel she was about as glamorous as mud… no wait—less than mud; she was less than mud. Yeah, that sounded right.

Haven't you ever felt that way before?

They say words can't hurt you, but Mabel's had struck home, piercing her heart and wounding her deeply. What did she have to offer, anyway? Mabel was so generous, benevolent, and kind. What was Pacifica? Selfish, proud, and stuck-up.

In honesty, Pacifica didn't have much to cherish; to hold close and swear love to. She was the black sheep of her estate, choosing friendship with outcasts over society and blood pride. She was held under lethal scrutiny, never once allowed to embrace interest outside what was expected; and finally, she felt more than ever—alone. Not once had her parents ever said…

I love you.

"Mabel I—"

At the sound of her name, Mabel turned and saw a certain… clarity within the blue eyes of her blonde friend. "Paci…?" Something didn't sit right with Mabel. The air was suddenly so much hotter than she remembered, and Pacifica was looking at her like—

Pacifica took a deep breath, then—

"I love you."

Immediately Mabel's reality shattered.

She what—?!

Before Mabel could pick her jaw off the ground, Pacifica was talking again.

"Mabel. You asked me if I ever felt love… At first I thought "No," and I wanted to hate you for it, but then…" The blonde paused, and clasping her hands around Mabel's own, added, "I realized I have felt that way, because of you!"

Mabel found her voice then, "Wha—Me? But Paci, I never—"

"Yes you did!" Pacifica forced out, squeezing Mabel's hands, "Yes you did, Mabel! I used to think you were just another dweeb… some goofy child that couldn't hold a candle to me, but… Then I realized what you had… all that love and adoration from your friends, your family… I wanted to feel it… I wanted to stand by you and bask in your warmth—and I hurt you because of it…"

Slowly, Pacifica drew Mabel close to her; their combined hands resting upon Pacifca's breast, right above her heart.

"I wanted you to suffer—to feel like I did, every day."

"Oh Paci…"

"But," Slowly, Pacifica eased herself onto the bed, pulling Mabel along, "But—" she continued, "Then I realized… it wasn't hatred."

Mabel felt the blonde's breath upon her cheek as Pacifica drew closer. Her own breath caught in her throat, the brunette could only lay there—arms entwined, and body begging. Pacifica's voice was like a drug, tickling her senses, and dulling her mind.

"That fiery passion I felt every time I looked at you—it wasn't jealousy or loathing." Pausing, Pacifica smiled, "It was…"

Within a flash of an instant, the inch of space between them was swallowed, and Mabel was suddenly caught up in the taste and texture of Pacifica's lips upon her own. She moaned, and heard Pacifica respond in turn. After what felt like an eternity tangled in each other's arms, Pacifica drew back and with a whisper, added,

"It was Love."


	5. BillDip: Blood and Wine

**Blood and Wine**

**BillDip **for kuro-love

[]

Within the small confines of a dimly lit bathroom, a young boy sat on a toilet and contemplated the bandages around his wrists.

Dipper allowed his fingers to ghost over the medical fabric, applying pressure, and watching as white slowly bled crimson.

It was a strange feeling—the pain.

It hurt, but not like it should; not like it was supposed to. Instead, sitting there, picking at fresh wounds, Dipper shivered at the slow tickle of pleasure that erupted with every scratch of his nails.

This isn't right.

He shouldn't be feeling this way—these feelings, this desire. It was so wrong.

Snarling, Dipper wrenched his fingers away from the bandage.

This is wrong. This is so wrong, yet it feels so… good.

Cradling his bleeding hand, the boy swallowed and began rocking his body until he convinced himself, that the tears pouring from his eyes were conceived from the pain, and not the pleasure.

What's happening to me?

Dipper bit back a scream when quivering fingers found his scalp, and digging into the roots of the boy's hair, forced a moan from his lips.

Help me… My skin is crawling—!

Dipper pulled his head between his legs, trying and failing at voiding the foreign emotions out of his system. Inside, a war waged against his will, and Dipper felt sweat break from his brow as his mind, heart, and quivering hands wrestled for dominance.

Normal people aren't supposed to enjoy pain!

Dipper felt the sweat drip down his face like a torrent. His panic rising, his heart racing.

I'm a freak! I'm a goddamn freak!

He was only twelve for fuck's sake!

I can't keep locking myself up in bathrooms to cut at my wrists!

It was at that moment Dipper felt real tears prickle the corners of his eyes, and slowly his hands lost their foothold, releasing his dark locks and falling to his lap where droplets of saltwater mixed with crimson stains.

This needs to stop. I can't keep living like this…

Dipper heard a knock at the door, before his sister's concerned voice bled through the old oak wood.

"Dipper, you okay, bro-bro? You've been held up in that bathroom for 3 hours! Actually," she paused, lowering her voice, "You've been doing that a lot lately…"

"I'm—" the boy began, clearing his throat before amending, "I'm fine Mabel! Just you know… Stan's cooking or whatever!"

A moment of silence passed between the siblings, and Dipper almost questioned if Mabel had deserted him, when, "Alright, Dipper. I trust you, so… stay safe, okay?"

Dipper waited until the sound of his sister's footsteps echoed into silence. Alone again inside the cramped loo, hearing the cautious sound of his own breathing, Dipper finally allowed his eyes to close.

Just breathe.

Slowly, Dipper allowed his back to slouch against the porcelain tank. His body heavy with exhaustion; the boy couldn't remember the last time he had slept.

In, out. In, out.

Resting his wrists against his legs, Dipper tried to ignore the low pulsating throb, that with every beat, slowed and became less frequent. Likewise, he ignored the tingle of liquid that slipped past his thighs, and pooled below his feet.

In, out. In, out.

A deep ache began to bleed from the pit of his stomach, and the boy could only lie there as it spread up his body and settled within his bones. The pain pulled him under—under and below the exhaustion, and into a warm black pit of darkness.

Don't forget to breathe.

Dipper welcomed that darkness.

Breath. Don't forget.

He could no longer feel his arms.

In, out. In, out.

The ache finally boiled to a climax behind his eyes, overflowing and bleeding out as the boy allowed its weight to pull him under. Head rolling to the side, the boy drowned in darkness as arms fell limp against the sides of the bowl.

Breathe. He can't have you if you're still breathing.

The fall was sweet; it felt like sinking into a hot bath, warm and welcoming. For a moment, Dipper indulged his fantasy; dreaming of warm baths and better days, when the water was never stained by the color crimson.

Within the silence, time was irrelevant. A minute could have passed, or perhaps a century; but, within that vortex of lucid dreaming and fragmented dreamscapes—Dipper heard a voice.

Dark and inviting, it sang,

"Mouth open, it's late…

Dead silence, black space…

I've been patient… For far too long,

I just can't wait… to get under your SKIN."

The last word was ground out like a razor against cement. The seductive melody of the tune quickly falling to low a low hum as it twisted around the boy.

Whether he was dreaming or not, Dipper enjoyed the powerful wave of passion that followed that haunting melody. Submerging his senses, and casting him deeper within the oblivion of illusion.

"Without thinking I take what I want,

My claws… creeping down where it's warm,

If I'm dreaming… is this wrong?

I just can't wait… to get under your skin."

Within his mind's eye, Dipper heard a different voice. A voice he recognized as a young boy of twelve, who held the innocence of childhood, but whose words held the terror and abaddon of an adult. He heard the boy whimper to himself, whispering scripture like mantra, and gripping a black book to his sweat-soaked breast.

The boy did this often, night after night, when the sun abandoned the light of God for the cold scrutiny of darkness. Within his empty bed, the child prayed for salvation, and the strength to deny himself.

"Thou shalt not fall,

Thou shalt not fear,

Thou shalt not lie,

Thou shalt not kill…"

"Yeah a lot that helped me."

Dipper's voice echoed out into the hollows, and strangely, he sounded resentful—of how much he prayed and how little he was paid attention. God was no different than his Grunkle Stan—just another man with too many secrets to hide, and too little care for the few who were cast under the shadow of misfortune.

Stan was a selfish, cynical man, and—Dipper reminded, so was God.

"Thou shalt not… die,

Just, breathe."

With a flash of brilliant light, Dipper was rushed back to reality, no—surreality, and staring at a ceiling he didn't recognize.

Harsh breaths rapidly escaped his throat as the boy tried desperately to associate his surroundings, yet Dipper quickly realized he couldn't turn his head, nor move his body. He was strapped down, bound by leather and what felt like thorns prickling at his flesh.

Dipper tried to rein control of his raising panic, but his fraying grasp of reality had his survival instincts warping his logic like an animal, bound and caged. Sweat slid down his face as Dipper festered and struggled against his restraints, screaming out when the thorn-like bindings stabbed at his body, drawing blood.

Although the oozing warmth was a welcome distraction from the miasma of fear that dominated the boy's sanity, as Dipper's struggles became wilder, so did the barbs pierce, and the bloodletting flow.

Suddenly, Dipper felt his body overflow with feeling, and opening his eyes to the wake of horror, the boy watched as the surrounding color bled, until muted tones of grey painted the walls, while the vivid color of RED saturated the floor.

Slowly, and with the fathomless depth of the ocean, that seductive voice returned, singing its dark melody.

"I'm not sure what this could be…

Something's broke inside of me,

Tucked down away and out of sight…

The afterhours bring to life."

The boy bound by belt and barb, lost sight of his surroundings, when just as suddenly as the clawed grasp upon his chin restrained his face, did the slick lips of a beast covered his own.

Dipper struggled, but the unseen offender ate its fill, and sating its lust, withdrew, revealing a mouth full of sickly-sharp teeth to the boy.

"Hello, my puppet," the voice purred.

Dipper tried to shake his head; tried to pull away, but the barbed wire as he'd discovered, wrapped the entirety of his body, and the slightest struggle drew blood. Instead, the boy glared back, as acidic and seething as possibly illustrated from his bound appearance.

A laugh drifted through the muted shade, and the voice replied in turn, "What's the matter, puppet? Not happy to hear from me? Not happy to… see me?"

Dipper gasped when suddenly, the shadows moved, and within the dim light, the harsh lines of a man's face came into stark contrast.

Bill was always more horribly grotesque than he remembered.

"I love," the demon emphasized, "—what you did with the bathroom floor. Such a lovely color…" The demon continued, swirling clawed fingers into the back of Dipper's head, "It reminds me of passion… the color of love."

"Thou shalt not… fear," the boy ground out, "Thou shalt not… fall!"

The demon laughed at the boy's play at candor, his own mirth equivalent to a cat pitying the mouse. "My, how righteous you've become, puppet!"

"Fu—Fuck you, Bill!"

The laugh didn't follow that time, and instead a silence reached between the two figures, before, "Puppet, do you—" Bill's claws dug into the boys head and pulled out several clumps of rich chocolate locks, "ENJOY the pain?"

Dipper cried out, throwing his head back and causing his body to spasm. The hooks acted as an immediate reminder of his bondage.

Although the boy wanted to curse the demon, wanted to cuss him out, and spit up the most creatively horrid remarks to match the horror of Bill's hideous face—Dipper could only breathe, and utter a moan in response.

Within the haze of illusion and the throbbing of his pounding skull, Dipper forced himself to answer honestly, why—he blamed the fear, or maybe, it was the anticipation.

"I—I, I…" Bill ripped out another lock of hair, "AHH! I do! Oh God—!" Dipper moaned again, feeling his heart sprint and calm like a marathon runner on crack.

Bill lowered his barracuda teeth to the boy's mouth, licking his lips then biting down.

"AUUUH!" Dipper moaned as blood seeped from the lethal dance of their kiss. The crimson essence dripped down the boy's mouth, and Dipper sighed as the iron taste of it made his stomach tighten in ecstasy. It didn't matter that it was his own, that just made the boy moan louder.

The high of emotion sparked like an eclectic current down Dipper's spine, and the boy nearly passed out from its violent surge. However, Bill wouldn't allow Dipper the luxury, and rather than enjoy the boy's lips, his mouth moved to the boys neck, where a line of barbed wire crossed over the delicate jugular vain, and bit down hard, then pulled.

Dipper's screams had the demon cackling in glee, and Bill slowly chewed on the exposed muscle tissue as more blood splattered the floor, painting the lips and face of the demon. Under the hard contrast of light, Bill resembled more of a monster than a man, and in Dipper's sweat-soaked daze of emotion, revealed in the sight.

"I can't help it, no… I can't speak," the demon sang,

"My skin's crawling in my sleep," the boy reprised, panting, "My head's screaming…"

"I can't stop.

I just can't wait to get under you skin."

The monster finished the verse, and pausing in its singing, placed a claw down the boy's cheek tenderly.

"Puppet," the demon began, "I can set you free," that claw brushed near the boy's exposed right eye, "Let me set you free."

Dipper breathed, then, tears in his eyes, Dipper answered.

"Thou—Thou… shalt not… lie." Tears freely flowing down his cheeks, but not from the pain, the boy cried out, "Y–Yes Bill, please! I beg of you!"

Bill smiled, and narrowing the distance, that same claw stabbed at the boy's eye socket, swift and without hesitation.

Dipper screamed, and several of the barbs pierced deeper, hooking into his skin. Leather pulled taut, and as his body fought to hold onto it's organ time seemed to slow for the boy. Dipper witnessed the blur of color, Bill's lethal eye with the triangular iris, then—nothing. Darkness.

The boy whimpered in the darkness, but when the pain in his eye started to dull, did the feeling of something else replace it. Old fears of abandonment and isolation began to creep within the back of Dipper's mind, and the boy panicked, screaming out to his demon.

"Shhh," the creature cooed, and Dipper felt arms encircle his body. A sense of comfort passed between them, and just as sudden did Bill rob him of sight, was it given back, only now… something was very different, and Dipper looked to the demon for clarification.

Bill smiled, cradling the boy who lay against the metal table of the color-less room. "Puppet," he began, "I am going to do something very selfish."

"S–Selfish?" the boy wheezed; when had his mouth filled with so much bile… or was this something else?

"Yes."

Never before had a single word held such fatal resonance. Bill was a horror to look at, but at that moment Dipper saw the scarred face, sickly mud-colored skin, and single burning eye in a different light. Bill almost looked handsome… however the torrent of terror the demon radiated withered whatever beauty his humanoid form retained, leaving the husk behind.

Without realizing his binds had broken, Dipper reached up and fingered the fair hair of his captor. Dipper always enjoyed Bill's hair. It reminded him of the sun, and the only light to grasp during these long entangled nights they shared.

Bill's face lowered to the nap of the boy's neck, pulling the child closer. A long wet tongue licked at the exposed flesh and reopening the wound, encouraging fresh blood to flow. Dipper moaned in response. The pleasure was hard to swallow sometimes, but the pain—that was a physical barrier from which Dipper could thrash and fester against. The boy needed to fight, regardless of how much he enjoyed the abuse; Dipper needed to feel like he was fighting against something!

If not Bill, then myself—

"Be at ease, puppet. It's almost over, and soon… you will witness the beauty, of the beast."

The beauty… of the beast?

"Bill, what are you…"

A sudden wariness laced the boy's words, however the demon only smiled in response and repeated, "Didn't you listen, puppet? Something selfish. But, you'll soon thank me when it's over, and finally…" The demon's voice lowered, and from somewhere a glimmer of light reflected within its golden eye, illuminating the monster's unique triangular iris. "We'll be together."

Dipper felt weightlessness again, and when he realized his surroundings he was sitting upon a different surface. It felt like a plush chair, and the boy allowed himself to sink into its comfort. The room he sat in was a pit of blackness so deep, and murky, the boy could barely see the hand he waved in front of his face.

From somewhere within the swimming monochromatica, Bill emerged, dressed in all the black leather and golden accents of his horrific yet, beautiful regalia. So much flesh was exposed, and Dipper often wondered why, when covered in numerous scars, would anyone want to reveal the deformities of their body?

However, Dipper would remind himself, Bill was not just "anybody," or rather, "any human." Bill was something aligned to man, and yet crosshatched at jagged angles. He walked like a man, but on boots that had large nails spearing the backs of his heels. Like a gentleman, he wore a top hat, but it was fashioned from leather, and held an aged skull covered in chains and wire upon its brim.

Dipper supposed this was some sort of twisted joke, for Bill was no man, nor was he gentle.

No, Bill was something more—something that couldn't be rationalized by mortal ego. Bill was… Well, the "man" who controlled the black board, and Dipper was caught up in the game.

"Dipper," came the voice of the demon. The boy looked up from his spot on the chair and saw Bill holding something. It looked like a wine bottle covered in gold and jewels.

"I've brought you a gift, puppet."

Bill held the wine bottle up, but with little to no light in the room, the boy had trouble making it out.

"I can't—" the boy began, "Yes you can," Bill interrupted, "I didn't grant you 'The Sight of Providence' for you to waste on petty mortal weakness. Now child, concentrate—And look again."

Dipper squinted, trying to see past the darkness. The boy couldn't feel his right eye, and if he managed a guess, Dipper would imagine it was missing—yet, at that moment, his assumption was radically challenged when what was once a fathoming black pit, was now forced into absolute clarity.

Dipper gasped, biting back a scream.

Surrounding him were the implements utilized by butchers. Hooks, knives, and saws of different breeds littered the floor, and above him, more hung from chains. This was a room for torture, or perhaps… and Dipper smiled at this thought, pleasure.

A red light seemed to saturate the atmosphere of the room. The crimson shade gave the already sinister appearance of the space an additional lethal sense of foreboding; whispering bloodshed, and promising much more.

Dipper turned his gaze back to the object in Bill's hand. Just like his original thought, it was a beautiful bottle gilded in colorful gems and rusted gold. The bottle looked very old, and noticing the demon held it with care, Dipper guessed that whatever it contained, was precious enough for something as old and wicked as Bill Cipher to hold as if it was the demon's own heart beating within his grasp.

"I'm not sure what this could be,

Something's broke… inside of me,

Tucked down away and out of sight,

The afterhours bring it to life."

Approaching the boy, the demon paused in it's singing, and said,

"No more games, Dipper," Bill spoke, a dark severity in his tone, "Live or Die: Make your choice."

Caught off guard by the creature's quick change of mood, Dipper hesitated. Had he ever heard such levirty from Bill before?

"Live or… Die?"

"You'll never grow old, Dipper," the demon continued, "Never die… But you must feed."

Dipper's eyes widened as suddenly the words from which the demon was speaking colored his fears in vivid pallets. The burning gold of Bill's single eye narrowed, and Dipper could make out the black cracks of his other eye. Although hidden behind fair locks, the deepening shade and creeping scars alerted Dipper to the demon's waning patience. When this demon lost it's cool, another creature took its place, and Dipper, remembering an event so horrible—so terrifying, he would do anything to avoid reliving, immediately tried to sate the monster's frustration.

"F–Feed?"

The demon smirked, "That is the price for Immortality, puppet."

"Immortality…?"

"Think about what I'm offering, boy." The demon continued, "Dipper… I ask for so little. Just fear me. Love me. Do as I ask, and I will be your slave!" The demon paused, sighed, and then added, "Isn't that generous?"

"Generous?" The boy mocked back, "What have you done that's generous?"

"EVERYTHING!" The demon roared, and suddenly the bottle forgotten, Bill's claws pinned Dipper hard against the velvet lounge. Snarling, the demon pushed on, "Everything that you wanted, I have done! You asked to be taken. I stole you away. You cowered before me. I was frightening! I have reordered time, turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for YOU!" Bill paused, a moment passing as Bill searched the boy's eyes before reluctantly adding, "I am exhausted from living up to your expectations… Isn't that generous?"

Struggling under the weight of the man's body, Dipper replied, "That's not generosity! That's obsession!"

Dipper managed to free one of his hands, pulling at the claws that dug into the tender flesh of his neck. The piercing barbs felt good, but at the moment another passion fouled the boy's ire.

"You ungrateful brat!" The demon sneered, "I'll make you scream!"

Growling, the boy yanked the claws out of his skin and wrenched his body out from below Bill's own. Falling to the floor, Dipper struggled for balance as he crawled far from the demon's violent terror.

Bill rose from the bed, his single golden eye burned like a window into hell, and slowly, he stalked the boy, step for step. "You can't stop me, kid. You have no power here. Do not forget who controls the dark side of the board!"

Dipper swallowed, his hands sliding against the floor, when suddenly something sharp against his palm reminded him of the many knives that littered the room. Grabbing for the handle, Dipper lifted the heavy weight of an old, rusty pick axe, and pointed it straight at the demon's narrowed gaze.

Bill laughed darkly while Dipper struggled for breath. The demon was right; it was becoming harder to deny him with each passing day. The scripture, the mysteries, Wendy—none of it sated the hunger deep within. However, he couldn't let this monster rule his emotions—control his fear. It was a long-time coming, but Dipper had to make a stand… If not for him, then for his sister, and whatever illusion of justice he yet retained.

"Look at you now, puppet," the demon observed, "So caviler, when just moments before I had you withering beneath me. Don't fool yourself, Dipper. You are no better than I; why else would you invite a demon into your body, every night?"

"I know that," the boy replied, panting, "I know that I am no honest man, no God-fearing man."

"You are no man at all," Bill remarked, "But—" Dipper continued, ignoring the demon, "I have something no man before me could hope to obtain, not even Stan."

"Oh? And what is that, puppet?"

Dipper smiled, and then said, "I have the love of a Demon!" the boy exclaimed, "And Bill," Dipper's smile grew when he saw the frown that seeped into the dark face of his adversary and lover, "It is you, who has no power over me!"

"Heh," the demon smirked, and Dipper watched as Bill wrestled with tremors of historic laughter. "That's clever, kid… You almost had me going, but it ain't gonna work." Bill's laughter ceasing, he shot the boy a confident smirk, "Not yet, kid. Your not old enough to enslave my will." He advanced on the boy, adding, "You on the other hand, I will gladly draw and quarter!"

Dipper screamed out as the feeling of iron suddenly pierced his body. Several chain-linked hooks flew from the nether, thrusting into his skin and pulling the boy up, high above the ground.

"I tried to make you immortal," the demon remarked, watching his little puppet suspend from strings made of metal, "You denied me once…"

The physical agony reminded Dipper of how much he loathed this monster… and loathed himself for loving it.

Inhaling a deep breath, the boy screamed out a single truth he'd been withholding deep within his heart, for far too long.

"YOU TRIED TO MAKE ME A KILLER!"

Ignoring the boy, the demon replied, "You won't deny me again."

With a flick of his claws, the hooks began to pull.

"ARUAAAARRRRG!"

Bill hummed in delight at the attractive sounds his boy was making. "Such a beautiful sound, puppet. Please, scream more, scream louder." Bill's burning gaze sought out the bleary sweat-soaked daze of Dipper's own, and smiling he encouraged, "For me, love. Scream only for me."

The boy did just that, and within the crimson miasma, Dipper withheld his tears. He wouldn't give Bill the satisfaction. If it were the last thing his miserable existence could cling to, Dipper would lock his heart far away from the demons grasp.

He can rule my flesh, but he'll never rule my heart!

Matching Bill's heartless gaze with one of his own, Dipper uttered two words,

"Jesus… Wept."

Bill laughed, a cruel sound, then the demon continued his song, weaving a tune that resonated with the boy's screams.

"I just can't wait… to get under your skin," The dark melody wrapped around the boy. It's lyrics pulling in a different way than the hooks in his flesh.

"I just can't wait… to get under your skin."

"T–Thou shalt n–not…" the boy mumbled, "Thou shalt… not."

"Thou shalt not... deny himself the pleasures of the flesh, puppet."

At the sound of Bill's mocking voice, Dipper looked up to see the demon stripping before him. Slowly black leather was discarded and the full grotesque reality of Bill's body walked into the dim light of the room.

Bill paused just below the strung-up image of his boy. Opening his mouth, Bill indulged in the blood that dripped into his gluttonous cavity.

"Come to your master, child. Love, is with your brother."

The chains lowered, and Dipper tried to struggle as Bill grasped the boy and held him close. With a slice of claw, what was left of the boy's clothes was rendered from his body. Now stripped of all restraint, save the hooks that suspended him, Dipper allowed himself to whimper, and when Bill kissed him... moan.

Together, the sounds of screaming bled into the cries of ecstasy and the hungry pants of lust. Dipper allowed Bill to consume him that night, and in Dipper's waking mind, beyond all the illusion and dreams: He loved every second of it.

Dipper was a twelve year old boy who sold his soul to a demon… and every pleasure since, was well worth the pain.

The cries from his last orgasm died within the boy, and as their bodies lay entwined upon the lounge, covered in fluid of white and crimson, Bill slowly rose from the velvet cushion and retrieved the forgotten bottle.

Dipper welcomed the pull of his body into the strong chest of a demon, as clawed fingers lifted his chin to dead-looking lips and a sweet slithering tongue. When the kiss faded, Dipper tried to blink away the high of pleasure and look Bill in the eye.

The boy watched as the demon popped the cork and took a deep swig of the red liquid. The claws upon his face turned lethal, gripping and pulling his puffy lips back to that mouth. Dipper's eyes snapped open when the rich, metal taste of the liquid was forced down his throat.

The boy gagged, forcing his reflexes to swallow, and Bill finally released his hold, allowing his puppet to fall back onto the lounge, hacking for desperate breaths. The demon was patient while Dipper tried to find his voice, and when the boy spoke, it came out strained.

"W–What," the boy coughed again, "What was that? What did you just feed me?!"

"What you wouldn't drink willingly," Bill replied, "What needed to be force-fed to you," the demon spoke coldly, grazing claws through the boy's hair. "Like the stubborn child you are."

Dipper wanted to snap back, to call Bill a cruel name, but instead, the brunette puffed out his cheeks and looked away from the golden glow of his monster's eye.

Bill laughed then, pulling Dipper closer. Snuggling his head within the crook of the boy's scarred neck, he whispered, "It will be dawn soon. Shouldn't you be returning to that deception you call living?"

Dipper didn't get the chance to respond. One moment he was snuggled in warmth, the next, his back was aching as he woke to find himself slouching on the toilet bowl.

"Ugh, gross…" he mumbled, rubbing his head and picking himself up off the floor.

The boy stretched, trying to snap his back into a more comfortable position. Feeling a slight sense of dizziness, Dipper stumbled to the sink, and grasping both sides of the cabinet, he held himself still.

With what little strength he had left, the boy locked eyes with himself. The horror of the mirror's refection was surprising to the boy; he hadn't realized he slept in mud… wait a moment—

Dipper picked at the caked, crusty substance that covered his face and saturated his hair. Taking a hesitant taste, Dipper's eyes bulged as he reeled back, recognizing the metallic taste immediately.

"Blood—!" Dipper said, then added, "But how did I—"

The boy's eyes found the floor and for the first time that morning, he felt utterly sick. Thinking it better that he reach for the toilet bowl again, Dipper vomited bile until what was left was the dry heaves of a panicking child.

Forcing his quivering body to turn and look to the stained carpet again, Dipper saw the tale-tell reminder of how he'd spent his evening… and whom he spent it with.

"I–I need to clean this!" The boy said, grasping for placement as he heaved his tired body up off the crimson floor. "I need a towel, some water… God dammit Dipper, just breathe!"

Dipper fell back against the sink, and turning, let out a yelp when he found his refection again. He was a mess, and although the thought of exposing his dark secret scared him horribly—the sudden glance into the coal pit of his eyes, caused the boy to pause in his alarm… and look deeper.

There was a twinkle of something… something sickly and yellow, that had nothing to do with the heavy bags or haggard look of his appearance.

Slowly, the lights seemed to dim, and Dipper lowered his eyes to the sink. A voice as jarring and jagged as the broken glass from which Dipper had cut himself, spoke to the boy.

"It's too late, Dipper. My blood is in your veins."

Hooking his fingers under the rim of the sink, the boy lifted his withered face to the mirror, and with a mouth full of teeth, replied,

"So is mine!"


	6. Kings Game

**Kings Game.**

[]

"Hey Dipper! Wanna play a game?"

A young brunette boy looks up from his sketchbook to the smiling face of his twin sister. Mabel is sitting in front of the wood stump they often utilize as a table. Upon the stump lay the familiar black and white shape of a chessboard.

Hastily, Dipper shook his head. No.

"No thanks, Mabel." He mumbles, and hides behind his book again. "Not interested."

Mabel frowns at her brother's poor excuse for a response. Shuffling the pieces on the board, she decides to prod. "Why not, bro-bro? You used to love chess! Don'tcha want another excuse to beat your sister at something?" Mabel said, rubbing the bottom of her lip, and thinking about how many times Dipper has bested her. "20 times, right?"

From behind his book, Dipper visibly twitches, and a moment later Mabel hears his voice leek between the pages— "It was 40 times… in a row. But whose counting?"

Pausing from her collection of tiny horses, Mabel replies, "You apparently." Then she brightens, adding, "So, does that mean you'll play with me?"

"NO!" Dipper shouts, and clutching the sketchbook closer, the boy attempts to look like he's immersed in doodling, his hands shaking visibly.

Mabel puffs up, pouting. Lowering her head to her 'herd' of horse-shaped chess pieces, she mumbles in that very Mabel way, "I bet he's scared 'cause he knows I'd win…"

Dipper hears, and that was the last straw! Throwing down his book, the boy jumps off the bed and points an agitated finger at the surprised face of his sister.

"You think you can win, Mabel? YOU don't even know what a pawn is! YOU think the rook house's a tiny princess! YOU move the knight in an "H" pattern, because "H" is for horse! It's not a horse, Mabel—It's a KNIGHT!"

A moment passes. The boy breathes heavily, while the girl stares back with hollow, empty eyes.

"I've been playing games for a long time, Mabel. Too long." Dipper speaks, shattering the silence, "You don't even understand the rules… What hope do you have?"

Mabel frowns at the sudden severity in her brother's voice. This wasn't Dipper. Not the curious little boy who toys with puzzles, and plays Chess with his sister, regardless if she remembers to move the stupid horse correctly, or not. This boy was older, jaded, and cold. Suddenly, Mabel didn't feel like playing with her brother anymore.

"So, for the last time…" Dipper continues, "I don't want to play with you."

"Well, I…I," Mabel stutters, "I bet Soos does!" She exclaims, "He's the only one around here that knows how to have any fun!"

Dipper flashes his sister a weird look. "What are you talking—" He begins, but Mabel cuts him off by turning around and walking to the door. She opens it, sticks out her tongue, and slams it shut. Alone again, the boy turns back to the forgotten chessboard.

Outside the sun is setting, and surrounding him, the shadows of the room grow, stretching; waking from their many hiding places, warping the room in jagged angles.

The boy swallows, eyes traveling to the dark side of the board. From behind the black king looms, tall and strong, casting a shadow over its many pawns.

Dipper shivers, feeling a cold wind blow from nowhere. With great resistance, the boy looks away from the board. He rolls over, and curls up beneath the blanket of his bed. Closing his own, Dipper tries desperately to ignore the feeling of eyes on his back.

Although the boy was far from tired, sleep took a selfish hold, drowning him under.

Stars swam within Dipper's vision, smearing shadow with light and painting his world the boy is aware of himself again, he is sitting on a high-backed chair and staring into an infinite void.

"No…" Dipper begins, swallowing and looking down. He was naked. "Not again!"

Below him lays the smooth surface of a black marble table. Upon the table sits a chessboard. The pieces are aligned perfectly, standing straight and imposing within the darkness.

"Please," The boy begs, "I don't want to play anymore…"

Dipper whimpers into the void, silence surmounting and eating away at his reason with every second spent in the bleak black gloom. His eyes dart between board and void expecting something but afraid of what.

A clawed hand emerges from within the shade.

Immediately the boy recognizes it. The hand is boney, with black gnarled claws, and the skin of a deadman. Dipper doesn't miss the golden band around the creature's index finger. A single triangle glimmers back up at him, making the boy squirm.

The hand holds out to the boy.

Dipper festers.

The hand beckons.

Dipper screams.

"No, dammit! I said I don't want to play!" The boy withers in his chair. He's tried struggling before, but his body never obeys. Nights pass, and he still cannot stand from the chair. Dipper knows why… Although he may kick and scream, the boy knows—

He is imprisoned until the game is over.

Having ran out of patience, the clawed hand forms a fist with its spidery fingers. Suddenly, Dipper feels a pull that dictates his body to move… and act.

"NO!" Dipper cries, tears prickling the edges of his eyes as he helplessly watches his arm reach out and grasp a white pawn. "No more, please! I won't survive another night!"

His hand rocks forward, and the pawn slides against the board.

"You're killing me!"

The pawn stops on a black square, Dipper's hand releasing, and control returning to his limb. Afterword, the boy is left whimpering and clutching his hand close to his breast.

His advisory reaches out, grasping its own black pawn, and moving the piece across the board.

Dipper watches with bated breath as the creature lands its pawn, then—opening it's claws again—beckons the child to continue the game. The boy swallows, and turns desperate eyes to the board.

The black and white squares glow bright and lethal within the high-contrast of the room. Every color was muted—Dipper's own flesh looking sickly by comparison—but the whites and blacks… They were a vibrant reminder of the nature of the game.

Black or white.

Life or death.

Make your choice.

Dipper did choose, as he did every night, by placing another pawn on the board.

"I'll beat you this time! I will! I have to!"

The hand curls its fingers, grasping another piece —A knight— and downs the boy's pawn.

Dipper's eyes widen. "How—?" He screams. Dipper feels the skin slice open under his right eye. Raising a trembling hand to his face, Dipper feels cool liquid leek from the wound. "It's happening…" he whimpers, "It's happening again!"

The hand beckons.

Closing his eyes, Dipper cries silently. It didn't matter how much time passed, how many times he tried to delay the inevitable…. If he didn't play, then he would be made to… And if he did play, then he would suffer.

"Please…." The boy begs, "Please… I don't want to play anymore." He held his arms close, cradling them as he squints blearily into the darkness. "Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

His opponent is silent; he—it—only speaks in silence. After years of playing the game, Dipper knows. This creature will never let him go.

_Because the game must go on._

Swallowing, the boy plucks a knight from the board. Holding it up, he looks at the pale, gothic piece, and thinks of his sister—Mabel. Lately, he's pushed her away more and more, but… "How could I invite you into this?" Dipper begins, tears falling freely from his eyes, "Knowing your very soul is at stake. And…" The boy paused, looking up. Across the table, the hand raked its fingers against the table, then, opening its palm wide, beckons him. "—your eternity." Dipper finished, and advanced the knight.

They continued like this for awhile: Play after play, landing and sliding against the board in silence. The only sounds heard were the echoes of pieces moving and advancing in their dark dance of strategy and bluff.

Every now and again, Dipper would scream out as one of his pieces were captured, and immediately following, new cuts would rip open upon his flesh. After what felt like hours, the boy was covered in haggard slash marks, saturating his body a bloody crimson.

Naked, wounded, and panting, the boy sat within the darkness begging for release. Only a few pieces remained, and through his blood-soaked vision, Dipper saw the hand curl its fingers around its king, sliding its black claws up and down the marble.

"No. Not that!" Dipper moaned, a sudden heat erupting from his core. It creeped from in-between his legs, following the lines of his waist, circling his nipples. It felt like hands, pulling and plucking at his flesh—peeling away his skin—toying with his shame.

"N–No…" Dipper bent over, festering against the ghostly hold. "This isn't fair. Please. It h–hurts… It. It…" The boy's words slip from his tongue as a fresh line of drool begins dripping down his lips. "Ah—feels… good!"

Dipper screams as the touches turn hostile. Phantom claws grasp for his cock and begin to gnaw at the tender flesh. Blood bled a new, and Dipper—for all his strength in denial—could not find the words to deny them.

Through squirms of pain, and the hot sting of pleasure, Dipper sought out the chessboard. His knight was two plays away from taking the king, and his opponent knew that.

_This is just a distraction. I have to fight! I have to win!_

Dipper pulled against his invisible restraints, hands grasping for the board and the knight he had held dearly. The hands gave way, and Dipper slid the piece across the board. One step closer to winning, one step closer to freedom.

Dipper waited for a response. Waited for his opponent to continue the game. But the hand was still, sliding its claws up and down the marble spine of its king.  
The sudden fire of pain woke Dipper from his trance, and the boy cried out as liquid began to weep from fresh wounds. Looking down, he gagged at the horror that waited him. Two large metal hooks were embedded in his chest, pulling skin from muscle, and causing blood to flow freely.

Drawn, quartered, and helpless, the boy could only wither as more chains erupted from the void, wrapping and digging their snares deep within his body.

Across the room the hand had ceased its ministrations. Uncurling its boney appendage, the dead hand wagged its index finger at Dipper, then pointed to a place on the board.

Dipper followed its pointed nail to the pale form of his own king. Unprotected. Venerable. Forgotten.

"NO!"

Dipper screamed as the hooks in his flesh pulled tighter, forcing new tears from his eyes. Through blurry vision, the boy watched as the dark king slid against the board. Slowly the king met Dipper's own and just as subtly the clawed hand slid against the pale king, cautiously, seductively, before striking it down.

The slap of marble echoed into the void, and then, following the final moments of Dipper's fall, naked and begging for release, the boy managed to lift his head and peer into the darkness. The hand held out to Dipper, and with hidden light, the triangle reflected back to the whites of his eyes. Beyond the void a voice rang out from both nowhere and everywhere. It wrapped it self around the boy and saturated the room with it's deep, distorted, terror.

"It's your move… Stanley."

Darkness followed. Swallowing Dipper whole.

When Dipper awoke again, he was lying in a pile of wet sheets. Body soaked in sweat and fluid, the boy rose from the bed and looked out into the shadows of his room. It was dark. The clock read 3:00 AM. Mabel was sound asleep across the room.

Allowing himself to breathe, Dipper pulled the blankets aside when something fell to the floor below him. It was his sketchbook.

Leaning down, Dipper picked up the book. He didn't remember taking it to bed, and without thought, opened the book, flipping through the pages.

When Dipper turned to the final entry in the book, he cried out, and dropped the book as if his hand had been burned. The book fell open before him. And Dipper, suddenly trembling, looked down to the sketch again.

There, in dark shades of crayon and kohl, was a render of a black void, a chessboard, and a single hand. Around its index finger was a ring with a golden triangle.

Licking his lips, Dipper looked up form the book and felt a heat grow from deep within his core.

Across the room sat the chessboard, cast in shadow and barely visible in the darkness. But Dipper could see nonetheless. He could see the pieces aligned upon the checkered squares, and the pale king that lay below its dark brother—fallen.

Checkmate.


End file.
